


Assumption of Contempt

by dctorneptune



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Anxiety, Anxious! Darcy, Because Darcy is an anxious boy, Character Study, Darcy POV, F/M, Inside Cannon, Short One Shot, Small Moment in Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29136018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dctorneptune/pseuds/dctorneptune
Summary: Mr. Darcy returns to Pemberley a day early to attend to business with his steward— which leads him to run into Elizabeth near the lake.Resigned to the fact that he would never see her again, Mr. Darcy is shocked to not only to cross paths with her once more but to be caught unprepared in the one place where he can let his guard down.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	Assumption of Contempt

Mr. Darcy knew he was near Pemberley. Not because he recognized the countryside, the familiar lakes he swam in as a boy and the worn footpath which leads to Lambton, nor the chestnut trees which were just past bloom. He knew he was near because of the tension leaving his body and the sense of calm replacing the near constant tumult of thoughts turning through his mind. 

At last his horse rounded the final corner of the shaded lane and he could see his home in the distance. He could not help but laugh at the relief—he did not realize how heavy his mind had become. He slowed to a trot then eased the horse into a leisurely walk, pleased by the summer air and the look of the gardens. This was the place where he feels most comfortable and at ease out of anywhere in the world. 

At the stables Mr. Darcy dismounted from the saddle, handed the reins to the boy refilling the water troughs, and exchanged a familiar hello with the old stablemaster. Removing his coat, hat, and gloves, he asked the boy to kindly take his belongings up to the house. Rather than heading directly there himself, Mr. Darcy resolved to take the longer path around the lake before attending to the necessary business with his steward which had brought him to Pemberley a day ahead of the rest of his party. 

Lost in the peaceful tranquility of being on familiar grounds, he did not notice the figures ahead of him until he was close enough to hear their voices. Visitors, possibly, taking a tour of the grounds and examining something near the water. He considered turning onto another path to avoid the chance of conversation, though carried by the confidence of being home he continued to walk along the path by the lake. 

The party was at first obscured, but soon he cleared the trees at the same moment one of the visitors turned. Frozen, he locked eyes with an unexpected, painfully familiar face. 

She, who he had spent the last weeks struggling in vain to push from his mind but who had been a constant figure in his thoughts. 

She, who he expected never to meet again, never hear another witty remark or see the knowing look in her eyes when she laughed. The woman he both dreadfully feared and desperately wished to meet just once more. 

Here at Pemberley, on the grounds of his sure and comforting home, Elizabeth.

Mr. Darcy was instantly aware of every part of his body—the blush of his cheeks, his stiff stance, and untidy appearance of a loose shirt and boots covered in dust from the road. He noticed the startled look in her eyes and the rise of color to her cheeks which mirrored his.

He mentally cursed himself. Why had he not gone to the house directly? Or turned back when he heard voices as was his typical manner? If only he had walked slightly slower around the lake or urged his horse faster and arrived an hour earlier their paths might not have crossed. If he had instead made the decision to leave London last night or before breakfast—or perhaps if he had not said that final goodbye to Georgiana—he would have been spared this mortifying moment of absolute humiliation. 

What must she think of him, intruding on her afternoon in such a sudden and discourteous manner. Was she embarrassed to see him this way? Was her blush one of anger, remanence of her clearly expressed resentment from their last meeting rising to the surface? He thought of her response to his declaration of affection, the offer of marriage which had been so repulsive to her but a few months ago. Since that moment her bitter accusations and derisive speech had been tormenting his every waking thought, a persistent repetition in the back of his mind.

_“You are mistaken Mr. Darcy, if you supposed that the mode of your declaration affected me in any other way, than as it spared the concern which I might have felt in refusing you had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.”_

He was vaguely aware that he had not moved from his place on the path, not taken a breath, unable to break away from her gaze. He could not be sure how long he had been standing motionless—time is of little consequence when one is fraught with anxiety—though likely only a moment had passed since he first saw her face.

Mr. Darcy considered turning to walk back the way he came, but fighting the impulse to escape he willed his feet to approach the party at the edge of the lake. He did not have the strength, however, to tear his eyes away from her. 

_“You could not have made the offer of your hand in any possible way that would have tempted me to accept it—”_

What had possessed him to declare his love in such a way? Against his better judgement, what had possessed him to declare his love at all? 

_“From the very beginning, from the first moment I may almost say, of my acquaintance with you—”_

He had not noticed the rapid beating of his heart until now. 

_“Your manners, impressing me with the fullest belief of your arrogance—”_

He was unable to draw a deep breath, his rapid heartbeat pressing painfully against his lungs.

_“Your conceit, and your selfish distain of the feelings of others—”_

And that damned letter. He had written it in a sleepless passion fueled by his anger of her accusations regarding Wickham. In this panic he could not remember what it had said. Had the contents of the letter offended her further? Were his words, no doubt incoherent and crazed, at the forefront of her mind as well, fueling her current disgust?

_“Were such to form the groundwork of disapprobation on which succeeding events have built so immovable a dislike—”_

He stopped on the path yard away, unsure of how close it was appropriate to approach her, or if was appropriate at all.

_“And I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”_

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat and spoke, “Miss Bennett.” 

Though he could scarcely hear his own words through the thoughts wreaking havoc in his mind, he was surprised at how steady his voice sounded. 

She returned similar greetings in hurried words, though she spoke with perfect civility. Why were her words hurried? She had turned her body away upon his approach and averted her eyes. Was she so eager to be out of his presence? He was now certain her blush must be one of anger, for her abhorrence was clear in her every manner. 

Mr. Darcy continued to talk of meaningless pleasantries, the weather and grounds, the health of her family, her business in the country…

He focused on keeping his voice steady and appearing engaged in the conversation. Despite his effort, the relentless thoughts in his head were distracting and he felt his anxiety spill through the mask of composure he worked so hard to maintain. Mr. Darcy was sure she saw through the thin disguise but was just polite enough to keep from laughing at him.

He was running out of pleasantries. Had he just asked about the health of her family twice?

While visiting Rosings in the spring, Mr. Darcy had gathered his courage and succeeded in capturing her precious attention near the pianoforte one evening. In a moment of complete candor—for she had the power to draw the natural truth from him with nothing more than a tilt of her head—he had confessed his difficulty conversing with others. She suggested he practice. Now he felt the deepest regret for not considering her advice.

Every word which passed between her lips betrayed the deep intellect she possessed. He longed to understand the inner workings of her mind, to ask for her opinions and discuss her thoughts on matters of the world. He had never met another person with a mind as rich as hers. She had no equal on this earth. How had he once dismissed her on her looks alone? How could he have missed the intelligence on her face when first introduced? He hated to remember that he had once called her “tolerable”. Standing in the sunlight, a glowing figure in the forefront of his beloved gardens, she was anything but. 

She met his eyes and his breath caught in his throat.

Mr. Darcy’s words died away and a heavy silence settled over them. The distance between them felt both too near and too far. He was bewitched by her presence, by his desire to be near her; he was caught in an internal battle between his violent affection for her and a barely contained urge to run from her. 

For in this moment there was no doubt in his mind that his feelings were unchanged from what they were in the spring. The clarity of the realization was startling. Now, however, he resolved to keep his affection buried deep within his soul, never to be uttered again. 

Her eyes fell from his face, and in this action he felt sure she had seen the depth of his affection rise to the surface before he had the chance to tuck it under the thin mask of civility he was struggling to maintain.

His sentiments had remained unchanged, he now knew this to be true, so surely hers had remained unchanged as well. He had no evidence to convince him otherwise, she had been painfully firm in her refusal and her behavior here had been incomprehensible.

_“I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”_

Yet, in her gaze he saw no lingering animosity, none of the anger or barely contained resentment he assumed she was harboring. Had her affections changed? With that thought, he began to hope as he had scarcely allowed himself to hope before. 

In a miraculous moment of clarity he pulled himself together, bowed, turned his back on her, and took his leave. He walked back along the path and up the hill, all the while fighting the impulse to look back at her. He recalled the mortifying interaction, incessantly analyzing every moment of it. He regretted every inarticulate word he had uttered and every stiff and awkward motion.

Had he appeared rude to her? Detached and conceited as she had often accused him of? Were his manners disagreeable? She had once called him proud, though in this moment he felt anything but. He closed his eyes and continually berated himself for his foolishness. At any moment he expected her indignant laugh to ring across the lake, a laugh of mockery or relief at his cowardly retreat. But it did not—no sound followed him into the house. 

What did this say, her uncommon silence coupled with a mysterious and strange manner throughout their recent encounter? 

His heart began to beat fervently once more, a tumult of thoughts consumed his mind, but the object of his anxiety changed. He no longer dwelt on the assumption of contempt, instead he wondered at the existence of her affection. 

Before he lost the wave of confidence encouraged by her silence, Mr. Darcy quickened his pace up the hill toward the house, resolved to return and discover the degree of her indifference. He hurried through the halls of his home, trying desperately to find a trace of insincerity in Elizabeth’s words—

_“I had not known you a month before I felt that you were the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed on to marry.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! Thanks for reading. This is my first attempt at creative writing, but I've always read Mr. Darcy as a literal ball of anxiety and wanted to try and explore his perspective in this scene with that lens. I posted it on my tumblr as well (@loudgothbitchyteenhamlet), but feel free to share your thoughts!


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